


My Sweetest Friend

by DabMyWetties



Series: halo fifteen [6]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Boys In Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear, Homophobic Language, Language, M/M, Meet the Family, Mental Health Issues, Pride, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 00:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11635017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DabMyWetties/pseuds/DabMyWetties
Summary: “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Mitch asks, unable to keep the tremor from his voice. They can’t back out gracefully now. He’d seen the curtains in the front window move in his peripheral vision, the warm light inside shifting and shining more brightly for a moment. They’ve been spotted. There is no sneaking away.





	My Sweetest Friend

**Author's Note:**

> heads up for panicky bits, self-loathing, internalization, a slur or two, general angst, and probably one of the ugliest lines of prose I’ve ever written.

 

As Scott shifts the car into park and moves to open his door, Mitch reaches over to grip his hand. “Do I look okay?” he asks in a near-whisper, tongue fiddling with his lip ring. He’d tried to dress as unassumingly as possible for this - plain black jeans, a black button-up shirt and a pair of sneakers he didn’t even know he owned. His hair was in a neat ponytail and he’d swapped his septum ring for a circular barbell he could flip up into his nose but he hadn’t taken out the lip ring. Maybe he should’ve taken out the lip ring. This is already a disaster waiting to happen; maybe the lip ring is too much. That should come out. Is he wearing too much black? He should’ve worn that green sweater instead.

Shit, he should’ve worn the green sweater.

“Hey, hey,” Scott’s voice breaks through the inner monologue of self-doubt. “You look fantastic, just like you do every day. You’re about to crush my hand. What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Mitch asks, unable to keep the tremor from his voice. They can’t back out gracefully now. He’d seen the curtains in the front window move in his peripheral vision, the warm light inside shifting and shining more brightly for a moment. They’ve been spotted. There is no sneaking away.

Scott exhales noisily. “Honestly? I’m _not_ sure. I have no idea what to expect. But it’s Thanksgiving and I’d like to give it a try, otherwise we’ll be eating Hot Pockets for dinner tomorrow. Which is fine, by the way, but my mom makes a really good turkey dinner.”

Time to calm the fuck down here.

If there’s one thing he _is_ sure of right now, it’s that this is important to Scott. On some level Mitch gets it. Both of their lives have been turned upside down in the last couple weeks; Scott saw the fallout of a family falling apart and took it upon himself to very suddenly make difficult, adult decisions. He didn’t have to do any of the things he did but he did them. He’s looking for a sense of comfort, of things being _normal_ , with Thanksgiving dinner with his family.

Mitch gets it. He wants his mommy too.

So now is the time to take a deep breath, get his shit under control, and meet the parents.

“Sorry,” Mitch breathes, loosening his deathgrip on Scott’s hand. “Just...nervous, and I got a little panicky for a minute there. I’m okay.”

Scott tugs gently at his hand as Mitch starts to let go. “Babe,” he says. “We can leave at any point, okay? Just say the word.”

That is something Mitch will not be doing no matter how much he wants to. He’s not going to destroy another family.

“I know,” Mitch murmurs, forcing a smile. “I’m fine now. Someone keeps peeking out at us. We should probably, like, not keep sitting here.”

Another tug at his hand, nearly pulling him right out of his seat this time, and Scott leans in for a gentle kiss. “Love you so much,” he whispers, eyes searching Mitch’s face.

Mitch’s smile is real this time. “Love you too, preppy boy.”

\--

It’s a tiny comfort that Mitch apparently isn’t the only one who doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Scott’s mom looks to be physically restraining herself from hugging him and Mitch isn’t sure how to feel about that. He does know that he feels very small and very awkward right now. He wants to cling to Scott, to hold his hand or lean against him or something, but this is not the time or place, not standing in front of two parents who just found out their kid is gay less than two weeks ago.

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” he manages to choke out, barely louder than a whisper and making the socially minimum required amount of eye contact.

Scott shifts next to him and suddenly his arm is there, pressed against his own, and it’s an anchor. Mitch focuses on the contact, lets it comfort him. _This is for Scott. Keep it together for him._

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Scott’s mom says softly. “And you don’t have to call me ma’am, Connie is fine.” There’s a brief pause. “Scott, sweetheart, your room is all set up, why don’t you boys go put your bags down and I’ll make some coffee, okay?”

Coffee is good. Mitch likes coffee. Coffee gives him something to do with his hands and something to put in his mouth so he doesn’t have to talk much. He’s all too happy to follow Scott up the stairs, down the hall, and into a little bit of privacy where maybe he’ll be able to catch his breath.

“Christ,” he mumbles, dropping heavily onto the bed and throwing his arm over his face. Scott flops down next to him. “So this is what meeting someone’s parents is like, huh?” He uncovers one eye and peeks at Scott; the blonde is looking at him with concern.

“You’re panicky,” Scott points out.

Well, no shit. “Uh, yeah,” he replies, covering his eyes again. “New situation, new people, trying to make a decent impression and not act too queer in front of my freshly-out boyfriend’s parents. What’s there to worry about?” Mitch tries to keep his tone light but he can’t hide the undercurrent of panic.

Scott exhales - not quite a sigh, more than a breath. Mitch can’t tell if he’s frustrated or not, but he feels Scott lace their fingers together and he tries not to worry about that on top of everything else as they lay quietly for a few minutes. It’s calming; he knows Scott knows it and that knowledge is just another layer of comfort that he so desperately needs right now.

“It’s okay to be yourself, sweetheart,” Scott breaks the silence.

Mitch snorts. “So should I go ahead and start with the kinky sex jokes while we’re having coffee tonight or should I save that for dinner tomorrow?”

There’s a beat, then a louder, sharper exhale. “Save the sex jokes for dinner tomorrow, but maybe you should try using fuck as a noun, verb, adverb, adjective, and interjection - all in one sentence - over coffee tonight,” Scott deadpans.

He doesn’t want to giggle, not now, but Mitch can’t help it. “What, no dangling participle?” he asks.

“I’ll give you a dangling participle,” Scott growls, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Mitch pulls his arm away from his eyes again so he can look at Scott, flutters his lashes, and bites his lip. “Yeah you will.”

It’s a lame joke, one they never pass up on the rare occasion dangling participles enter a conversation, but, dammit, it’s funny and they both need the laugh.

“Seriously, though,” Scott says after they calm down, leaving it open-ended.

With a sigh, Mitch rolls onto his side and props his head in his hand. “Seriously, though,” he mimics. “I feel like I don’t know how to act not-weird. It’s one thing to, I dunno, tone it down in class or something but it’s something altogether different to try and act less gay and not quite as much of a freak in front of your boyfriend’s parents.”

Scott blinks. “Why would you act, uh, less gay? You _are_ gay. Everyone here knows about it.”

Really? “I’m aware of that, dear,” Mitch gazes at him blandly. This boy is smart as hell but _shit_ can he be clueless sometimes. “Let’s think this through, okay? The straight world is pretty fucking uncomfortable with us. We know this. They’re even more uncomfortable when the gayness is, like, obvious. So I am doing my damndest to not seem like the queen I am in front of your parents who, by the way, only discovered my existence like two weeks ago when they found out their baby boy is a flaming homosexual. You wanna see uncomfortable? Uncomfortable is my twink ass going all [Antoine Merriweather](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYHFt15Z5Us) in front of your mother. Please understand that I’m a little nervous about my code switching ability here.”  

 

It looks like Scott is about to argue with him when there’s a gentle tap at the door. “Coffee’s ready,” Scott’s mom - _Connie_ , he’s supposed to call her Connie - calls in to them.

Scott’s expression is hard to read, some mix of concern and fondness and exasperation. Mitch sighs. “Here goes nothin’.”

There’s coffee in the kitchen and a tray of cheese and crackers in the dining room and Mitch has to bite back a bubble of laughter because this all seems so _normal_ and unassuming. Why is everyone acting like this is a regular thing they do on a regular day? Why does no one else seem to recognize how fucked up of a situation this is? Why is everyone sitting so calmly and _normally_ around the dining room table talking about the Thanksgiving menu?

He waits for the other shoe to drop.

“So, Mitch,” Scott’s dad - _Rick_ , he’s supposed to call him Rick - says as Mitch fiddles with a neatly-sliced square of cheddar cheese. “Scott said you’ll be graduating from the community college this semester?”

School is a normal thing to talk about. He can talk about school. “Yes. Um, so far so good, as long as I pass all my finals I will. I feel pretty good about that, though. I’m gonna work full time spring semester and then move on to the university next fall.” Mitch mentally high-fives himself for not saying anything dumb.

Scott’s smiling at him. “So far so good? Didn’t you just tell me last week that you could sleep through all of your finals at this point and still get, like, a B in all four classes?” He’s teasing a little, but there’s an obvious current of pride in the question.

Mitch shrugs. He’s still on edge but not quite as much as before. “I meant _technically_ I could, not that I’m going to blow a 4.0 GPA by actually doing it!”

It’s a much easier conversation as they stick to mundane, safe topics like classes and grades and college in general. Mitch is almost comfortable. He’s almost enjoying himself, and he’s certainly enjoying the coffee and the cheese, so it’s almost a shock when Connie says, in that mom tone, “There’s one thing I wanted to go over with you guys before dinner tomorrow.”

Mitch tenses. This must be the other shoe. It’s bound to be a lecture on acting “normal,” or keeping this whole thing a secret, or to make sure to watch the football game with the guys so no one suspects anything, or _something_ unpleasant and demoralizing. He feels Scott’s knee press a little harder into his under the table and, when he looks over from the cracker in his hand he’d dropped his eyes to, Scott’s expression is both curious and apprehensive.

“So,” she begins, and Mitch is having a hard time hearing her over his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Your dad and I - Rick and I - read through all the information you brought over the other week, Scotty. One of the, I guess, suggestions was not to …speak for you, or to tell friends or family on your behalf. So just to make sure we’re all on the same page, we told the family that Mitch is a friend from school who couldn’t make it home for Thanksgiving this year. If you want to, um, be more accurate or leave it at that for now or however you want it to go, it’s up to you.”

This isn’t a shoe dropping. What is this?

“Now, I want you to know,” she continues before Mitch can finish processing the first part. “I did talk to Greg. Maybe I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry if that was a mistake. We’re just not experts on this. Not yet. But I wanted to get his advice on how to handle everything best and how to make things as comfortable for Mitch as possible.”

Greg. That’s the gay uncle. To make things as comfortable for _who_ as possible? He couldn’t have heard it right. There are supposed to be admonishments not to ruin the family dinner. Where are the admonishments?

Mitch turns to look helplessly at Scott. Scott looks calm. He’s nodding at his parents, even smiling a bit, saying something about playing things by ear and it’s been a long week and it’s getting late and with his ears still buzzing a little Mitch finds himself trailing upstairs after Scott still not entirely sure if he’d followed the conversation correctly.

“How’re you feeling?” Scott asks as he rummages through his duffel bag before triumphantly pulling out a pair of sweatpants. “You were a little quieter than usual but it seemed like you were more comfortable.”

Mitch isn’t sure how he’s feeling, to be honest. He’s definitely calmer now that it’s just him and Scott behind a closed door with no pressure to act or speak a certain way. But still. “I’m…” he begins, trailing off as Scott strips down before slipping into his sweatpants. Well _that_ was certainly a mood-lifter. “Heh. Nice. I’m, um, I dunno. You distracted me.”

“One track mind,” Scott grins at him.

Mitch can’t stop himself from smiling back. “Yeah, well, when you’re swinging your dick around like that I notice. Shame we have this nice big bed right across the hall from your parents.”

Scott groans, somewhere between frustrated and teasing. “You suck.” Mitch is about to offer to do just that when Scott laughs. ”No, don’t even start,” he chides. “Brush your teeth, put your pajamas on. Wanna watch a movie?”

Hey, it was worth a shot.

Later, cradled together in what’s become their default movie-watching position, Mitch lifts his head slightly from Scott’s chest to look up at him. “What are you gonna tell people tomorrow?”

“Hmmm?” Scott murmurs. He tries to pull Mitch closer, back against his chest, but this is a serious question.

“Tomorrow. Thanksgiving dinner, when your whole family is gonna be here and I hopefully won’t cause a scene,” Mitch explains patiently. Sometimes that’s necessary, like the time Scott wanted to drink the raw egg mixture Avi was using to make French toast. “Your mom told everyone I’m your friend from school. Is that the story we’re going with so we don’t ruin the holiday?”

That gets his attention. Scott shifts them around a little until he’s on his side, head propped in one hand and the other hand resting lightly on Mitch’s abdomen. “Ruin the holiday? I mean, we can tell my family what we’re comfortable telling them, but the truth isn’t going to ruin the holiday.”

He’s so sweet and so naïve. “Honey,” Mitch begins in the same raw egg tone as earlier. “Your parents seem unusually cool about the whole thing, but most people aren’t. You can’t expect a great reaction from everyone.”

Scott frowns. “Greg and Roy have come to, like, every holiday meal for twenty years and it’s apparently such a non-issue that I didn’t realize they were gay until two weeks ago. No one’s ever gossiped or said anything nasty or anything like that. I don’t expect, like, a _great_ reaction from everyone but I think my family in general is going to be _okay_ at the very least.”

And, okay, that’s a valid point, but things just aren’t that simple. “Scotty, a lot of times these things go badly. I just… I’m terrified that this is going to be one of them and that your family’s Thanksgiving is going to be, I dunno, scarred. Like every Thanksgiving in the future will be _hey, remember when Scott brought that fag to dinner?_ and...” he sighs.  Shit. This all made more sense in his head. “I’m scared,” he concludes quietly.

“Hey,” Scott says quietly. “Hey, so am I, okay? But remember how we’re supposed to find our safe people and safe spaces? I think my parents are safe people. Greg and Roy are, and I think you’ll agree when you meet them tomorrow. Until I find out otherwise, I’m pretty sure we’re in a safe space here. And if it’s not, we’ll leave. I promise.”

This is a whole series of valid points, one right after the other. Mitch doesn’t have anything to argue so he just takes a moment to digest what Scott said.

“How about,” Scott drawls as the silence stretches on. “How about we try to talk to Greg tomorrow, hear his take on how he and Roy are treated in the family. Would that help you feel less scared? I mean, he already knows the truth, so…”

“Okay,” Mitch says softly. This all makes a lot more sense than everything that’s been running through his head for days. It’s worth a shot. This time he lets Scott pull in him close and wrap him in comfort, and before he can start worrying again he drifts off to sleep.

\--

“What?” Scott asks.

Mitch continues to stare at him blandly, dragging on his cigarette. They’re both in the garage so Mitch can have a sanity break away from the bustle of family and out of the cold. “I can’t believe you didn’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “Seriously, I cannot believe this.”

Scott looks truly wounded. “Hey! It never came up!”

He’d spent days - weeks! - in a constant state of panic over this visit and it was, in retrospect, completely ridiculous. He’d expected something altogether different, that Greg and Roy would act like completely straight business partners and that everyone would just pretend like nothing was amiss. “Jesus Christ,” Mitch mutters. “They are _so_ in love, how did you not see it? God, I hope we’re that cute in twenty years.”

It had been difficult at first, Greg had told them. It had been awkward and no one quite knew how to act the first couple holiday gatherings, but they decided to try for a little bit longer and the awkwardness had worn off and Roy was just part of the family.

This is a safe space. These are safe people.

Mitch is so lost in thought for a moment that he doesn’t notice Scott smiling widely at him at first. “What?” It’s his turn to ask, apparently.

“In twenty years, huh?” Scott’s grinning like an idiot.

Oh. He did say that, didn’t he. He shrugs playfully. “I dunno. I’d kinda like to keep you around, I think.”

**Author's Note:**

> An oft-overlooked issue in the LGBTQ+ community is the issue of mental health. 
> 
> Queer teens and young adults today are three times as likely to suffer from mental illnesses such as depression and anxiety and nearly four times as likely as their heterosexual peers to attempt suicide. An estimated 40% of transpeople have attempted suicide. 
> 
> A 2009 study in the journal Pediatrics found that LGBTQ+ youth who are rejected by their families are more than 8 times as likely to attempt suicide than queer youth with accepting families. 
> 
> These are today’s numbers. It was worse in the 1990s. It’s difficult to pin down exactly how much worse because, until 1994, every queer person - medically speaking - had a mental disorder. Homosexuality was a diagnosable mental illness until it was fully removed from the DSM-IV update - approximately one year before this story is set. 
> 
> Concepts like internalization and minority stress contribute to these numbers. LGBTQ+ youth - and adults - are often teased, ostracized, bullied, rejected by family and/or friends, and stigmatized. It hurts. When someone is told, by word or deed, that something is wrong with them, they begin to believe it. The daily exposure to anti-queer sentiment causes immense stress on a person and even those with a healthy support system suffer negative mental health repercussions. 
> 
> The Trevor Project can help you if you need mental health assistance. They’re available 24/7 at thetrevorproject.org via phone, chat, and text.
> 
> You are important. You are loved.


End file.
